Rust and Pixie Dust
by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: Amelia Jones is the sheriff of a small town plagued by fairytale monsters. Arthur Kirkland is half fairy, half human and new in town. They have a history and might just have a future, too if the monsters and crazy townspeople don't get in the way. Fantasy AU, Multi-pairing: UK x Fem!US, Fr x Fem!UK, America x Fem!Romano, AusHun, SpaBel, and many more...
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue **

**One year earlier**

_ "What the hell, Trick? Where's Arthur?" _

_ "Wasn't he with you?" _

_ "No! I thought he went off with you, you bleedin' idiot!" _

_ "Shut it, Robin, the Hellhounds will hear you if you keep squawking like that." _

_ "Fine, Scott." _

_ "You bet it's fine. Now, Trick, where the hell is Arthur? You were supposed to be watching his back. It's bloody dangerous out here." _

_ "Shh, shut up, Scott." _

_ "Robin-"_

_ "I mean it! Listen for one bleedin' second!" _

_ "Bloody hell." _

_ "You said it. Trick, Robin, move your arses, something's got Arthur." _

…

_ Pain. That was all he really knew. He wasn't __**in **__pain. He __**was **__pain. It had swallowed him whole, tearing and shredding him from the inside out in one hot, burning inferno of agony. No, wait, that was just the Hellhound annihilating his torso. It continued for what seemed like ages, until the pain dulled and his sight, which had been dimming, was completely gone. Now, instead of blazing lashes of hurt, it was more of a distant, intense throbbing. Everything had gone sort of white and fuzzy in his mind, even his physical torment. That should have been a relief. Instead it just terrified him. It meant he was dying. _

_ Arthur Kirkland did not want to die. He was twenty-two, he had just barely started life, why the hell should he lose it now? He knew it was childish to lie on the forest floor, a failed hunter, dying and still only managing to think about how unfair it all was. But still, the world needed to cut him some slack. He was bloody __**dying **__after all. _

_ If he could still feel his throat, he would have laughed. How ironic that he had loved the Hound of the Baskervilles as a child. After all, the creature that hound had been modeled after was his murderer. It was poetic justice, if he were feeling like a pun. He really wasn't. Oncoming death does not put one into a punny mood. _

_ His breath was fading, rasping and failing in his chest as his life fluttered against its mortal fetters. Distantly he heard the chiming of bells, the high, tinny voices of his fairy friends raised in distress. That made him sad. As much as he didn't want to die, he really didn't want his faithful friends to be sad about him dying. They would miss him, he knew. His brothers couldn't see them, and the high Court of Fairie was just another collection of monsters for the elder Kirklands to hunt. The little will-o-wisps and such that had been Arthur's constant companions since infancy were too small and innocent to constitute a threat to his brothers. They were safe from the hunters. But they would be lonely without him. Who would play electric guitar for them, or bake them scones (since they seemed to be the only ones who appreciated his cooking), or sing old folk songs to them when one else was listening? _

_ Suddenly even more melancholy about his impending death, Arthur almost didn't hear the soft, feminine voice next to his ear. _

_ "Do you wish to continue?"_

_ Arthur would have blinked, had he been able to feel his eyelids. _

_ The voice repeated itself. "Do you wish to continue?" _

_ "Continue where?" Arthur's voice rattled and rasped, his inflection already sounding corpse-like. _

_ "On the journey all men make when they flee the mortal frame." _

_ "No." _

_ "There is another way. A way to remain here." _

_ "Fine." _

_ "Do you give me permission, human boy?" _

_ "Ye-" his voice failed him. His breath stopped. He could feel his spirit slipping from his body. He could feel something loosening and casting him adrift. As if from very far away, he could hear voices echoing around his body._

_ "There is not much time. Do it, my queen." _

_ "Do not presume to command me, Peaseblossom." _

_ "Yes, Lady Titania." _

_ "Fetch Lord Oberon and Queen Mab. If we are to save the boy all of us must be present. He is lucky that it is the full moon and we are at the height of our power, else this would not work. Bring Puck as well, he will seal the ceremony." _

_ "Yes, Lady Titania." _

_ Then the world warped and twisted around him and Arthur remembered no more. _

…

One year later

"Mummy, who is he? Why are we picking up a strange man? Is he going to stay with us? He's not going to get _my _room, is he?!" A high, childish voice stabbed through Arthur's dream, puncturing the bubble of his sleep and banishing any dreams of that night.

"Shh, Peter, he's sleeping. The airplane ride was very hard on him."

The kid was not buying this, "Why? Airplanes are easy. Unless you're flying them. Then I guess they're kind of hard. But not much. All you have to do there is sit there and BAM! You're there. Although it does take a bloody long time to get anywhere."

"Peter! Language!"

"Why, Mummy? You talk like that all the time."

"It doesn't mean that you can, mister."

"Fine, Mummy. Who is he, anyway? He's got GIANT eyebrows."

"Peter! That's your Uncle Arthur, and yes, he will be staying with us for a while, so be nice."

Peter, bored with explanations from his mother, started poking Arthur in the face, "Hey, mister, why are your eyebrows so big?"

Deciding that sleep was clearly not to be an option at this point, Arthur sat up with a groan. Rubbing his hands down his face and peering through is fingers, he examined Peter. The kid was strapped into the seat on the far side of the vehicle from Arthur, as Arthur had been using the middle seat as a headrest. He had sandy blond hair a few shades darker than Arthur's own golden locks, and eyebrows that, quite frankly, nearly rivaled the adult's for bushiness. The boy looked to be about six and was obviously fascinated with the new addition to their motor vehicle.

Motor vehicle. Right, he was still in a car. That would explain his nausea and pounding headache. Feeling like he was about to vomit, or pass out, or possibly both, Arthur curled in on himself, pulling away from any bit or bob in the car's interior that might be made of metal. Knees tucked up to his chest, face buried in his legs, Arthur tried to breathe.

"Hey, mister, you okay?" the kid, Peter asked, sounding far too fascinated with Arthur's discomfort for Arthur to feel like he was receiving any real sympathy.

"How much longer?" Arthur grumbled.

"Arthur-" the woman in the driver's seat began.

"How much longer?" Arthur said, with slightly more force.

"Twenty minutes, thirty tops." She admitted.

"Rosa, stop the car." Arthur demanded, voice flat and ill-sounding.

"Arthur-"

"Please" he whispered.

She stopped the car. Arthur bolted out of it; not even minding that the touch of the seatbelt buckle on his bare arm left a large welt or that accidentally pressing his palm against the car door resulted in an angry red burn. Once free of that infernal contraption, Arthur ran. He bolted from the vehicle, dashing into a row of grapevines on trellises, stopping in the midst of the vineyard, just breathing in the wild California air, free of the horrible metallic tang of iron he could feel scorching his throat in the car.

When Rosa and Peter caught up to him, he looked them both in the eye and said, "From here, I'm walking. On foot. No more cars."

A sympathetic look flickered over Rosa's face. She patted his arm and said, "Alright, call me or Francis when you get in town and one of us will show you the way to the house. Just no fighting with my husband. He may be a touchy-feely Frog, but he's mine."

Peter just narrowed his blue eyes up at him and said, loud and clear, "You're weird."

Arthur laughed. "You don't know the half of it, kid."

….

BANG!

Amelia grunted quietly, absorbing the shotgun's sharp recoil as she shot off another round of rock salt at the snarling _kappa. _The demon-horse squealed and plunged away, making a break for the lake, crushing twigs and leaves beneath its hooves as it plunged through the forest.

"Ludwig! Kiku! It's trying to get to the water! Cut it off!" Amelia barked, voice cracking through the air the same way the shotgun had minutes before.

"Hai, sheriff-san," Kiku's voice was soft, but somehow it seemed to be right next to Amelia's ear. The young sheriff just nodded acknowledgement to the Japanese man's words and continued to scan the trees for threats from more water-horses. Behind her Chiara stood at the ready, pistol ready to shoot.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Both women froze, listening to the sound of hooves against the soft forest floor.

"Shit," Chiara breathed, summing up Amelia's thoughts perfectly.

"Back to back," Amelia instructed, Chiara already moving into the formation with practiced ease.

Now better able to see the rest of the forest, the women warily scanned the trees for the kappa they had heard. Silence, tense and heavy blanketed them. The sound of their breathing overlaid by the distant noises of Kiku and Ludwig cornering the first kappa were the only noises that dared to interrupt the stillness. Until…

A perky Italian pop tune shattered the silence of the forest, and most likely Amelia's eardrums as well. She had to grit her teeth to resist the urge to grab the phone emitting that ghastly sound and crush it. The only thing she was undecided on in her iPhone-destruction fantasy was whether its demise was brought about due to its insufferable ring tone or the fact that it had gone off in the middle of a hunt and might just get them both killed by a carnivorous demon-horse.

"Chiara," Amelia hissed out of the corner of her mouth, "Are you going to get that or just keep cursing at it and hoping whoever it is will give up?"

Chiara, who had indeed simply been uttering a long string of profanities at the unfortunate device, ground her teeth and snatched it out of her back pocket, and pressed the 'respond' button. "What the hell, Feli, I'm _working." _There was a pause. "Like hunting a big-ass kappa and its mean-as-all-freaking-hell buddy, _that _kind of work, idiot!" The pause this time was longer, "WHAT DID HE SAY?!" she yelped, barely remembering to keep her squawking to lower levels as not to give their position away to the rampaging kappas.

"Fine, fine," she attempted to resolve the problem. The was another pause and Amelia could practically hear Feli getting frantic and worked up on the other end of the line, Chiara attempted to smother the insanity that was her little brother, with only limited success. "Yes, Feli, I will go over there. When? Well, as soon as Ally and I shoot this horsey bastard up with rocksalt and iron, then I'll head over to the vineyards. No, I'm not saying 'I love you' over the phone, only sissy bitches do that. Feli, that wasn't a compliment. Whatever. Bye, little bro." Chiara snapped the phone closed and shoved it back in her back pocket.

"Do you mind swinging by the family vineyards as soon as we're done here?" Chiara asked Amelia, "Apparently there's some sort of hobo camped out in my vineyard and the plants are all magicked out. Feli described it at 'the vines look like they're having a party' so they're pretty outta whack. Wanna come down and check it out?"

Amelia was going to mull it over, but that changed as soon as the kappa plunged into the clearing, screaming and gnashing its teeth. In one fluid motion, she shot its eyes full of rock salt. It went careening around the clearing, screaming, of course. When it was a decent distance ways from Amelia, Chiara shot off the final blow. The screaming, bloody-fanged beast collapsed in front of them, twitching slightly in death.

Amelia dusted off her hands and looked up at Chiara, "I think we're ready to deal with some vagrants sleeping in you vineyard."

Chaira shrugged and laughed.

….

In truth, neither woman expected to see what was before them. A man lay on his side in the middle of the vineyard. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady and even. As he dreamed, he twitched periodically or muttered some small half-intelligible syllable. The oddest thing about him was the way the plants responded to him. Every single grape vine's flowers were turned to him like little curious neighbors. And the vines themselves… they grew over everything of his, including him.

"Dammmnnn iiiit." Chiara stretched the word, infusing it with a strong touch of wonder at just how peculiar this was.

"Do you think he's a demon, Chiara-san?" Kiku asked quietly. Ludwig had stayed behind to mop up the mess that the kappas had left behind, the quiet Japanese man accompanying the increasingly irate Italian woman back to her vineyards to face her uninvited guest.

"I vote we splash him with holy water and see what happens." Chiara said, her phrasing making it clear that her 'vote' was less of a democratic gesture and more a royal proclamation.

Kiku nodded and fished a water bottle out of his bag, unscrewing it and dumping the contents on the snoozing man. They waited for something to happen. At least a minute passed. Not even a twitch marred the peaceful, dreaming face of the man at their feet. Instead, the vines, apparently encouraged by the application of sanctified fluids, curled even tighter around his unconscious form.

"Huh. Normally something happens at this point," Kiku observed serenely.

Chiara cast him a withering 'no duh' look. He shrugged. "What now, Chiara-san?"

The Italian woman had opened her mouth, about to unleash her frustrations in the form of a vocal barrage, when they were interrupted by the crunch of footsteps. Chiara, taken by surprise, gave a high, incredibly girly shriek and jumped at least two feet in the air. She came down awkwardly, wobbling on her feet. Strong, tanned hands caught her shoulders and supported her from behind. Her heart rate sped up and she found herself fixated on those hands… and the person on the other end of them. It was with a great force of will that she turned her face up to him, stared into those bright blue, hearstoppingly gorgeous eyes and said, "It took you long enough to get here, asshat."

His laugh was deep, rich and lovely. "What are you talking about, Chiara? The hero is never late!"

Biting her lip, she was most definitely _not _enjoying his grip on her shoulders and certainly _not_ entertaining the thought of what it would be like to be held close by those strong arms, Chiara snapped back, "Then I suppose you aren't quite a hero yet, Alfred. Not let go of me, creep!"

"Oooh, somebody has a crush on my broootheeer," Amelia sing-songed from behind her older sibling, her small frame obscured by his broad shoulders. Looking at the two of them, one would never guess that the petite, blue-eyed blonde woman was the town's tough no-nonsense sheriff while the tall broad, muscular man was a volunteer fireman and a pacifistic toyshop owner. Well, as pacifistic as you could get in a town next to a supernatural Rift. The Rift meant that they were constantly dealing with nasty creatures sneaking into their world from other dimensions, looking to wreak a little havoc. It was all well and good, the sheriff would lead frequent patrols and the townspeople rotated in and out on the duty roster. But it was hard during tourist season, and there was a reason that no out-of-towner who moved to the little town never stayed more than a year.

"So holy water didn't work?" Amelia's voice came from behind her sibling, Chiara could see the American woman attempting to see around Alfred, the narrow aisles between the grapevines making negotiating large groups of people awkward.

"No affect, sheriff-san." Kiku reported.

"Huh," Amelia sounded contemplative, then impatient, "Alfred, move your fat ass over, I can't see."

"Ally, don't be mean," Alfred whined playfully, but made room for his petite sister to slip past him.

"Do we have an ID on him?" Amelia asked, sounding official now that she had access to the… magic scene? Was that what you said when no crime had been committed but there was the stench of magic everywhere?

"No," Kiku informed her. "No one is missing from town, but the vines obscure his face too much for us to get a positive ID. It could just be someone wearing the wrong charm in the wrong place."

"Or a particularly spectacularly stupid tourist," Alfred suggested, casually wrapping his arms around Chiara's waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder, ignoring her squawks of protest at the affectionate gesture.

"ALFRED JONES!" Chiara squeaked.

"Hmm?"

"Get off me!"

"But you're so huggable!" he protested.

"I will kick your ass into next Sunday if you don't get your hands off me right now!" Chiara's voice was climbing into a progressively higher pitch as she spoke until it sounded like she had swallowed a whole canister of helium.

Despite her friend and sibling's antics, Amelia had been pacing around the vine-wrapped person, pondering the curious situation. It didn't look as if it were hurting anyone… perhaps… but they never left the old world… it was worth a shot, even if she was wrong. "Kiku," she said quietly, silencing the squabbling Italian-American duo with a look, "Do you have any iron in your bag?"

"Hai, sheriff-san. What do you wish to use it for?"

Amelia frowned at him. "Kiku, you know you don't have to be so formal with me. Amelia is just fine."

"Hai, sheriff Amelia-san."

Amelia eyed him suspiciously, relaxing a bit when she saw the glitter of humor hidden deep in his dark eyes. Kiku was a bit of an enigma, but he did have a sense of humor buried in there. She supposed she owed it to him to explain her thought process, "I think this thing might be a faerie healing-cocoon."

"Faeries?" Alfred sounded incredulous. Amelia didn't blame him, it was a rather preposterous thought, something Alfred had no reservations reminding of her of. "Ally, you know they never left the Old World. The fae folk are too traditional, bound to the land and all. The high courts need the sacred places to appear, and we just don't have them here, Rift or no Rift. The only fae we get are the occasional banished misfit or questing prince."

"I know, Freddie," Amelia smirked as he cringed at her use of his hated childhood nickname, "I just want to try something. Kiku, the iron?"

Kiku handed her a wrought iron fire-poker, how he had gotten it into his backpack would remain a mystery of the universe. Adjusting her grip on the metal rod, Amelia gingerly extended it and prodded the somewhat human-shaped bundle of vines with the tip. The vines made a small squealing noise and pulled away from the poker, twisting even tighter around whoever or whatever they were cocooning. Green, sparkling smoke poured off of the branches where the iron touched it.

Satisfied, Amelia turned her back on the bundle of greenery on the ground, a triumphant smirk on her face. "A fairie healing cocoon," she concluded, "The fae can't stand the touch of iron, and their magic is the same way. Whatever triggered this, it's healing something or someone of the fae."

"Yeah, well I think you pissed it off, sis." Alfred pointed out.

"Huh?" Amelia replied, taken off guard.

"It just glowed green and whatever it was teleported outta here."

Amelia whipped around to find that the vines, still glowing green, were slowly slinking back to their original places on the trellises, their patient gone without a trace.

"Dammit!" both Chiara and Amelia said at the same time.

"I wanted to kick it's ass for trespassing," growled Chiara.

"I wanted to know if it's friendly," Amelia muttered, before turning back to her friends, "Well, boys and girls, buckle up, this could be an interesting ride."

Author's Note: I believe some explanations are in order. So, this will be a multi-chapter fic with many pairings (they shall be revealed with the next chapter as you meet more of the townspeople). I will also probably do the occasional one-shot of this AU focusing on some of the characters and/or scenes which do not appear and/or get spotlighted in the central fic.

A word about the beginning bit: if any of you are Shakespeare fans like me, I'm pretty sure you caught my rather blatant reference to the Bard. In 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' the Queen of the Faeries is said to be Titania, and her King is Oberon. Queen Mab and Puck are both mentioned as well. Peaseblossom is minor faerie character. As this story continues, I will continue to mention them. I am trying to be as authentic as possible with British legends of the Fair Folk, but please forgive me if I mess something up, it was NOT intentional. And yes, I am stretching the legends to fit my needs. What can I say, I like to utilize creative license.

Character Names: Not all of the Nyotalia characters have concrete 'canon' names, the most commonly used ones are 'fanon'. I use the ones I like best rather than the most common ones for my incarnations of the Nyotalia characters. Arthur's brothers also don't have canon names to my knowledge, so I used my own preferences there as well. Here's a quick breakdown of the non-canon names:

Fem!Romano: Chiara Vargas

Fem!America: Amelia Jones (Ally for short because I found an adorable bit of UK x Fem!US fanart where she was called Ally)

Fem!England: Rosa Kirkland

Scotland: Scott

Ireland: Patrick (Trick for short)

Wales: Robin

I hope to see you next chapter! Please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! I LOVE feedback, it helps me improve as a writer and makes me very happy. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

Arthur Kirkland awoke with a pounding headache, body aching as if he had just plummeted ten stories to a squashed-bug-on-a-windshield doom. At least the nausea and dizziness had gone away. Although his vision was a little foggy… blinking, disoriented, Arthur attempted to scan his surroundings, only to be confronted with a pair of bright violet-red eyes which hovered _far _too close to the Englishman's face for comfort. With a yelp of alarm, he reflexively jerked upright, forehead smashing into that of the red-eyed fellow peering down at him. Groaning as the motion, plus the thunk of skull on skull rattled his tender brain even more; Arthur let loose a string of profanity that would have made his grandmother faint. The volume and sheer foulness of his words was only matched by the stream of German swearing flying from red-eye's mouth.

Finally each man realized that the other had out-shouted and out-sworn him. Mildly shocked at the other's audacity, they fell silent, staring at one another. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the red-eyed man, what he had initially thought was his own concussion-dimmed vision was actually the fact that lighting in this room was virtually non-existent. Through the gloom he could just barely make out the shape of a shadowy red-eyed silver haired figure leaning against the counter behind the bar. Wait… bar?

Blinking, confused, Arthur began to look around himself when red-eyes finally gathered his wits enough to speak. "What the hell are you doing teleporting into _my_ attic and falling through _my_ floor and crashing into _my _bar? Way un-awesome, man. Do you know how much work fixing all this crap is going to cost? And how much the awesome me will have to _work _to fix it? _Work! _Me, _work_! The awesome me does not work. That's why I'm a bartender! Now get your magicky ass offa my not-working surface. Now. Do it. Get off."

Still slightly dazed from his apparent sudden teleportation and subsequent plummet through several stories, Arthur shook his head slightly; his enhanced faerie senses nagging at him. There was something about this irritable red-eyed fellow… Arthur just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Ignoring the shouts of the angry bartender (who was German, Arthur guessed, based on the accent), Arthur pulled his legs up into a comfortable cross-legged position on the bar and analyzed his perceptions of his (somewhat unwilling) host. It wasn't until Arthur reached 'scent' and began analyzing the musty aroma of the bar that he realized what it was about this fellow that had triggered a red flag in his faerie senses.

"You're a vampire," Arthur interrupted red-eyes' tirade with this stunning announcement, voice bland and somewhat disinterested.

"Hell yes, I'm a vampire!" red-eyes bellowed, before pausing, realizing just what he had said, and attempting to backtrack without much success. "Wait, what? Isn't that some sort of discrimination? Just telling anyone you see with red eyes that they're vampires? Racist!" he began shouting, pushing Arthur's dull throbbing headache into a pounding, crashing roar of head-pain.

"Shut. Up." Arthur didn't realize that he had laced his voice with some of the mesmerizing power of faerie until after red-eye snapped his mouth shut, staring at Arthur with wide, bugged-out red eyes as if not sure just how this had managed to happen.

"Damn," Arthur cursed to himself. He needed to be more careful with his powers if he was going to blend in here… Wait, blend in? Ha. What was this 'blending in' thing he had thought of? Of course Arthur was near incapable of such a thing. His family had never been 'normal'. Neither had his life. Him trying normal now, after all that had happened to him was almost comical.

The vampire-who-claimed-he-wasn't was struggling against the bonds accidentally (sort of) set on him by Arthur. Noticing that he was trying to speak, Arthur flicked a hand and cast off the faerie magic with an ease that made him a bit nervous. He had never meant to assimilate or become one of _them. _He didn't like the ease with which he used the foreign magic these days, but that was neither here nor there as the vampire had resumed speaking.

Growing impatient with his constant harping on the destruction of the ceilings, and Arthur's less-than-elegant landing on the bar, Arthur tried to cut red-eyes off. "Who the bloody hell are you and why am I here and why the hell is a vampire the bartender?"

Red-eyes shrugged, "I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. I got bit by a vamp. I'm a vamp now. It's not so bad. Chicks dig vampires as awesome as me. But I don't sparkle. That's for sissies who have more glitter-paint than brains." His eyes narrowed as he regarded Arthur, "You're not human either," he observed, apparently oblivious to how incongruous the topic change was.

"Correct," Arthur verified with a painful twist of his heart.

"Awesome, man! Yes! I mean, the awesome me was totally cool with being the only non-human, but it was still kinda weird, y'know? There's so much stuff humans can't smell or hear or freaking see and it's all just so freaking _hilarious. _Man, this is so cool! Get off my bar and I'll pour you a drink and we can talk all awesome and non-humany."

Arthur was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sheer force of this odd creature's enthusiasm. Not quite sure what to say, he went for a dead-pan statement, "You are not like any vampire I've ever met."

Red-eyes snorted, "Blame Maddie. I got all torn up by Count-Freaking-Dracula and I was thinking I was a goner and then there was this cute little Canadian doctor who was going on about how she wanted to save me. And I started feeling guilty about dying on her and then I turned and I knew I should've offed myself before I went full-on blood-sucker… but then there was Maddie and I didn't." He seemed to realize the introspective turn the conversation had taken and looked affronted that it had been allowed to progress to the soul-baring point (despite the fact that it was he who was doing the soul-baring). "Get off my bar! The awesome me is not bestowing you with my awesome life story unless you get off my bar and take a beer. The awesome me does not drink alone. You can't just teleport in and expect to roost there forever like some sort of giant, British dodo-bird." He started to shove at the Englishman, almost tipping Arthur off of the counter.

Finally Arthur relented and scrambled onto a barstool. Before he could blink red-eyes had shoved a cold beer into his hands and they were chatting. Or more, red-eyes (who Arthur soon learned was named Gilbert Beilschmidt) was chatting while Arthur sat and drank or yelled at him for his more moronic statements. Three pints in Arthur used a bit of the leftover energy from his nature-healing in the vineyard (and subsequent accidental teleportation once the magic felt an external threat) to repair the broken floor and ceilings.

"Dude, what… I don't even know…" Gilbert gaped, staring up at the place where the ceiling was knitting itself back together, his slack jaw revealing his fangs for the first time.

Arthur snorted and cut off the magic with a flick of his wrist. "I'm half faerie, you berk. Nature power is kind of my thing."

"But…" Gilbert was still gaping.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the bartender, "Good God, I am shocked you remained alive this long with that few brain cells."

Gilbert narrowed his red eyes at his new drinking buddy, "Is that an insult?"

Arthur snorted again. "Yes, git. Now think of the obvious. Trees are natural. Trees are wood. Your ceiling was made out of wood."

When Gilbert's face remained blank, Arthur elaborated further. "I'm half nature-spirit. Nature comes with the business."

Gilbert's face dropped back into its normal expression as if nothing had happened. "Cool, pixie housekeeping powers and a Diseny franchise. You faeries. Real BAMFs."

Arthur made a derisive noise in the back of his throat, "Three words, blood sucker: Sparkling Vegetarion Vampires."

"No!" Gilbert put his hands over his ears, "Don't be so unawesome, dude! Just drink your stupid beer and stop mentioning The Twilight Abomination!"

Arthur cackled at his easy victory and took another swig of beer. He might just like it here.

….

**Several Hours Later…**

Amelia 'Ally' Jones was almost always surprised when the sheriff's phone rang. No, it wasn't 'her' phone, it was 'the sheriff's' phone. Typically, if people wanted to contact her about something, they went through her cell. Most of the things people called her about would not sound right being spoken over the landline. A perplexed look settled onto her face as if she were wondering for once in her three-year sojourn as sheriff if a non-monster-related crime had finally happened in their tiny town.

With a feeling of trepidation she picked up the receiver, "Sheriff's Office, Sheriff Jones speaking."

"Oui, oui, Amerique, I know who you are, there is no need for these little pleasantries."

"Francis, why are you calling me? Please don't tell me you've gotten _another _sexual harassment complaint. Your wife may have to kill you and then I'd have to arrest her and it'd all get messy from there." Ally massaged her temples, feeling the nagging edge of a headache brewing.

"Oh, Ally, mon cher! You have so little faith in me!"

"We grew up together, Francis. My lack of faith is completely appropriate," Ally sighed, "Now, what do you want?"

"Well, if you do wish to be so… direct and… _American _about it…"

"Yes, Francis, we are in America, the land of not-beating-around-the-bush. Now spill."

"You are much cuter when you are not at work," Francis mused playfully. Ally knew he was just trying to get her mad so he could laugh his French ass off wherever he was, but _still_ he was just so… _Francis. _

With a melodramatic sigh, the Frenchman in question finally got to the point. "I seem to have misplaced a family member of mine. Well, a family member of Rosa's really. He appears to have wandered off, poor English rabbit, and we cannot manage to find him."

Ally sighed, "You want me to look for a wandering family member?"

"Yes, mon cher, if it wouldn't be too terrible inconvienient."

"Fine, tell me about him. Name, description, the works, I'll call Rose when I have something. It's a small town, how far could he have gone?" Of course there was a second meaning under those off-hand words. There was the ever-present fear that a tourist, an ignorant, _normal _stranger would wander into the wrong part of town and become something's dinner before anyone could stop it.

"His name is Arthur. He's youngish. God-awful eyebrows. Good luck, Amerique!" And with that airy salutation, Francis hung up. Ally groaned. This was going to be a long afternoon. But, it beat paperwork, and at least she was going to be outside. Spirits a bit lighter at the thought of escaping the confines of the office, Ally grabbed her brown leather bomber jacket, slinging it on as she left the building to go chase Francis' wayward relation.

…

Chiara wasn't quite sure what to expect when she received the text from Alfred (no, they didn't text _often_, just half hour or so… they were just friends, dammit!) saying that she needed to meet him at the No-Man's Land Tavern. She slunk through the door to Gilbert's bar, hoping no one had seen her. The sun had dropped behind the horizon about an hour before and the bar was almost sparkling with life and energy. Gilbert was cracking jokes and throwing pretzels at Ludwig. Ludwig, who was seated in a snug corner, Feliciano beside him, delivered a dark glower in his elder brother's direction, before turning his attention back to Chiara's chipper sibling's brilliant smile. She had to admit, she just didn't get what was going on with Feli and the Potato Bastard. Were they a couple? Were they friends? No one really knew and Feli was cagey as all hell, the little bastard.

The rest of the bar was full as well. Chiara caught sight of Vash Zwingli annihilating the competition at the dartboard, the Swiss gun specialist peering over his shoulder constantly to make sure Lili Elric was still watching appreciatively from a nearby table. Bella Carriedo and Elizabeta Herdevary-Edelstein sat beside Lili as the two older women's husbands hopped up on the small corner stage to mess around with the instruments stashed there, Antonio Carriedo playing with a guitar and Roderiech Edelstein tapping out a tune on the piano.

Where the freaking hell was Alfred? He was the one who called her here, if he was late… Well, Chiara couldn't really say she'd _be _pissed, because she already _was _naturally… As she was busy contemplating the varying levels one can be pissed at their whatever-the-freaking-hell Alfred was to her, she wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings. It wasn't until a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist from the side and lifted her partially off the ground that she realized just who was now inches from her face.

"A-a-a-ALFRED!" Chiara squawked, "PUT ME DOWN!"

Alfred pouted slightly, knowing full well how flustered it made Chiara. "But I've got exactly what I want right here. Why should I let go of it?"

"You'd better fricking let go, or I'll…" Chiara didn't really know how to end the threat because now she was looking into those gorgeous blue eyes of his and she really didn't know what to say…

Alfred smiled mischievously, and set her down, planting a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose as soon as her feet touched the floor. Chiara flushed the bright color of a tomato. "Alfred, there are people around, you bastard," She muttered, looking down and away, smacking him lightly on the chest with a closed fist.

Alfred laughed his big, happy-go-lucky laugh and ruffled her hair, "Come on, grumpy, we've got stuff to discuss as soon as my sister gets here. Come on; let's go rescue Kiku from Gilbert. He looks like he's trapped at the bar, poor guy, stuck listening to how 'awesome' Gilbert is." Alfred rolled his eyes expressively, ignoring Gil's distant shout of protest that 'he was _so _awesome.'

Hand slipping from the top of Chiara's head, Alfred strode over to the bar, leaving a somewhat confused Italian in his wake. Chiara folded her arms across her chest and furrowed her brow, muttering to herself, "This is why I'm confused, you big idiot. One minute you're kissing me, then next you're ruffling my hair like a kid sister," Chiara narrowed her eyes irritably. "Stupid, American, fast-food bastard," she declared to the floor.

"Chiara? You coming?" Alfred looked over his shoulder at her so innocently Chiara was tempted to punch him the face. She resisted the urge and instead followed him over to where a small Japanese man sat perched on a barstool next to a blond guy. Wait, who was the blond guy? Chiara searched her memory for a name to put to the face, but came up with nothing. This guy was a stranger. A total stranger and he and Kiku were _chatting? _Kiku did not _chat. _What the freaking hell were they talking about anyway?

When she asked Alfred out of the corner of her mouth (the Italian-American duo had paused in front of the animated pair), he sniggered and muttered back, "Tea."

"Tea?" Chiara wrinkled her nose. Why would anyone want to drink _tea _when there was perfectly good coffee to be had?

"Yes, tea," a British-accented voice confirmed. Chiara and Alfred jumped guiltily, realizing that their little 'quiet' exchange had been overheard by the mystery blond. His head hadn't moved, but he was peering at them out of the corner of one of his huge green eyes, a slightly amused expression on his face. There was a flush to his cheeks, and a drink in his hand, but he didn't appear too drunk.

"Oh, my apologies, Arthur-san, these are my friends, Alfred Jones and Chiara Vargas. I had planned on meeting them, but your opinions on early post-World War II literature were simply too interesting to pass up. And I must say you have impeccable taste in tea." Kiku did that odd little half-bow thing of his, first to Arthur and then to Alfred and Chiara. It looked pretty funny while he was sitting on a barstool, but Chiara decided he didn't need to know that.

"A pleasure to meet you," Arthur swung around on the stool, listing a bit too far to the side and shaking first Alfred, then Chiara's hand s. However, the second handshake nearly sent him toppling to the ground.

"Arthur-san, perhaps you have drunken too much?" Kiku asked, reaching out to support the swaying Englishman.

"Mm, maybe so?" Arthur's brow furrowed. "Ask me some questions, we'll see."

"Ah, alright." Kiku's voice was hesitant and after he'd agreed to Arthur's suggestion he didn't seem to know what to do or say next.

Alfred saved the day, or at least Chiara was fairly sure he thought of it that way, "Okay! Question time! Hmm, Coke or Pepsi?"

"Neither, I'm English."

Alfred looked a bit stymied at that, but kept going valiantly. "Name?"

"Arthur Kirkland, you git. I think if I'd know if I was drunk enough to forget my own bloody name!"

"Uh, religion?"

At that Arthur looked a bit perplexed, "Catholic…er…Protestant…ah, no…Pagan? Is that an option? God, I don't know." He shrugged.

"Okay, you're drunk," Alfred declared.

Chiara elbowed him, "Since when is that a measure of drunkenness?"

Alfred grinned, "I invented it!"

"Of course you did," Chiara sighed, then turned her attention back to Arthur, "Drunk or not, clear out to somewhere else. We've got business to do."

Arthur's brows (he really had huge eyebrows) furrowed and he opened his mouth as if to argue, when a female voice cut above the crowd noise. "Artie? Arthur freaking-mother-of-god Clarkland?"

Alfred snickered, "What was that about forgetting your own name?"

But Chiara could see the color drain from Arthur's face as he beheld the woman striding toward them. Turning, Chiara caught sight of Amelia F. Jones storming through the bar, her bomber jacket like armor, her eyes strangely vulnerable. Ally came to a halt in front of Arthur, grabbing his tie and yanking his face towards hers, her blue eyes huge and full of a complex knot of emotions Chiara couldn't imagine untangling.

"I haven't seen you since you disappeared five years ago. I thought you were dead. Where the hell have you been?"

**Author's Note: I'm back! It's been awhile since I updated this… I'M SORRY. I'll try to keep updates more consistent. So, just for clarification, Arthur's last name IS Kirkland. When he and Ally first knew each other he was using a fake last name (the reasons for which shall be revealed soon…). I promise that the UK x Fem!US interaction will pick up soon, I just needed to set everything up just right. UK x Fem!US is one of my OPTs, so I will endeavor to handle this pairing with care and style. **

** About the Twilight references, I'm not really a fan of Twilight, but I don't hate it. I just think Gil would resent it as he actually **_**is **_**a vampire and therefore thinks he is the **_**perfect**_** bloodsucker. So, forgive me for some Twilight-mocking. No harm is meant by it, I am merely attempting to stay true to the characters. **

** PLEASE REVIEW! It really does make my day to hear from you guys. **

** See you next chapter! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Previously on Rust and Pixie Dust: _

_Ally came to a halt in front of Arthur, grabbing his tie and yanking his face towards hers, her blue eyes huge and full of a complex knot of emotions Chiara couldn't imagine untangling. _

"_I haven't seen you since you disappeared five years ago. I thought you were dead. Where the hell have you been?" _

Arthur wasn't all that drunk. All right, maybe he and Gilbert had each managed to clean out two six packs over the course of the afternoon, plus the shots… and those Sangrias Antonio had made didn't really count as alcohol, did they? But Arthur knew that he couldn't really get _drunk._ It came with the faerie-knight upgrade package. New DNA, new fantastic abilities! Particularly, Arthur's sudden inability to get truly drunk. Useful, yes? Unfortunate for the first few months after his transformation, when his family decided he was a monster that needed exterminating? Yes. Yes it was _unfortunate. _

So, Arthur, who really wasn't drunk, just the closest he could physically get, was incredibly confused when he turned around and saw Ally Jones storming across the bar towards him. Hallucinations weren't typically part of the not-really-drunk-but-sorta-kinda-close package, were they? And then she was inches from his face and yelling at him, and she was just so… completely and utterly perfect.

She hadn't changed a bit.

He could still remember meeting Ally F. Jones.

* * *

_ "Class, this is the new student, Andrew Clark-"_

_ Arthur sighed, his name wasn't that hard, was it? "Sir, my name is Arthur." _

_ The teacher waved his hand vaguely, eyes drowsy and distracted, thick, fluffy hair curling around his face like some sort of wild creature dedicated to devouring his head. "Uh, huh, Arthur Kentwood-"_

_ Arthur's sigh this time turned into a bit of an irritated growl, "Sir, my name is Arthur Clarkland. Clark. Land. Arthur Clarkland." _

_ "Okay," the teacher shrugged vaguely, gazing around the room with a vacant expression. Seemingly out of nowhere a cat hopped onto the man's desk at his side and rubbed against his hand. The man turned, stroking the cat with far more attentiveness than he had been paying Arthur for the entirety of this incredibly pathetic introduction. Realizing that at least a minute had passed without his instructor looking up from the furry animal inexplicably on the teacher's desk, Arthur decided he was better off introducing himself. _

_ Resisting the urge to grind his teeth, Arthur straightened his leather jacket and glowered darkly at the curly-haired teacher's back before turning his menacing stare on the rest of the class. "Hullo, berks, I'm Arthur Clarkland. I'm from England. No, I have not met the queen, yes I drink tea, no I don't play croquet, although I could easily kick all of your collective arses at football, the proper kind, not the ridiculous bastardization you lot put on. If there are any other stereotypes you wish to address with me, raise your hand now." He added an extra-strong glare at the end of that, to discourage audience participation. _

_ Arthur did not expect the class to take him up on his mostly-snide offer. In all of the classes, in all of the schools, in all of the countries he had lived in until now, not a single kid had raised his or her hand. That day, one girl in the back row stuck her hand in the air. Arthur glowered at the offending appendage, as if he could will it to sink back down to the desk. Instead, she waved it a bit, as if each finger was squeaking: 'Pick me! Pick me!'_

_ Arthur gritted his teeth, "Yes, you. In the back." _

_ A messy head of blonde hair bobbed a bit as she finally dropped the hand. He couldn't spot her face, but he could guess she was grinning ear-to-ear. He could practically sense the waves of 'perky' and 'positive-minded' rolling toward him from that little corner of the classroom. Her voice was chipper and genuinely happy, probably the only genuinely happy voice in this hell known in America as 'senior year of high school'. _

"_So," she asked, "Is the green hair a British thing or just a fashion statement?" _

_The green-ness currently decorating Arthur's mane of shaggy (usually) blond hair was actually the result of a potion getting spilled on him while he and his brother Patrick (known as 'Trick' to his family) had been fighting a witch the week before, but civilians didn't need to know that. "The green hair is green," Arthur declared, only moderately sullenly, deciding being obtuse was better than letting this turn into a (God-forbid) actual conversation. _

_The girl had laughed. Arthur liked it. He wanted to hear her laugh again. _

_Around that time, their teacher snapped out of whatever mind-meld he and the cat had sunk into and hustled Arthur off to a vacant seat and began the lesson. The fell asleep halfway through, and Arthur skulked off. He felt the girl's eyes on him as he slipped out the door. _

* * *

Back in the present day, Arthur was remembering those eyes. Those very blue eyes. Those very blue, very angry eyes which were currently boring holes in his soul. Four thoughts were shooting through Arthur Kirkland's brain at that exact moment.

One was 'Thank god I used a fake last name when I went to that school or she'd definitely know it was me.'

Another was, 'She's still beautiful.'

The third was, 'I wish I were still human so I wouldn't have to lie to her.'

The last was, 'I wish I was still the person she used to know.'

Beside him the loud American man with the weird are-you-actaully-drunk questions elbowed him in the ribs, yanking Arthur's thought back to reality. "Are you gonna answer her or not?" The American demanded.

Arthur swallowed, shoving back the fight-or-flight instincts clamoring at the back of his mind to 'bloody use your magic powers and get out of here!' Instead he plastered a fake smile across his face and said, quite pleasantly, "I'm sorry, miss, I do believe you are mistaken. My name is Arthur _Kirkland,_ not Clarkland. I realize they're rather similar, I do hope I haven't caused you any trouble."

That just seemed to make Ally angrier. Arthur's heart twisted in his chest at the hurt lurking in the back of her eyes. "Shut the fuck up. Just shut up and don't lie to me," she snarled, tightening her grip on his tie and shoving him against the bar.

Ignoring his own inner turmoil, ignoring the fact that all he had wanted to do for these five long years was to pick up a phone and call her, talk to her, feel her voice ghost across his ears, and listen to her reassuring breathing on the other end of the line, Arthur smiled apologetically. "Miss, I have no idea who you are talking about."

Her eyes blazed steel-blue. They only turned this color when she was either really mad or crying or both. Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her eyes this color.

He cut her off before she could speak again and hurt them both more. He already felt like the hellhound was tearing him up again, this time from the inside out. "Look at me, look into my eyes and tell me if I'm truly the same person." He knew it sounded stupid and ridiculous, but the words were laced with a jolt of his power, pulling them away from their simple function as collections of syllables and sound and halfway to the realm of the spell-words or words of power.

She blinked, staring into his eyes. He wondered what she would or could see.

Ally stared into the bright green eyes in front of her. They seemed ever-so-slightly different than she remembered. For one thing, they were larger, and a brighter color than she recalled. Instead of being the quiet, tranquil, deep green of moss or pine boughs, these were bright and near-phosphorescent in their intensity. She could feel her soul being seared by those electric, neon-green eyes. His facial structure had shifted a bit over the years; his features were sharper, more angular. She could cut herself on those cheekbones. His hair was longer, and blond instead of the green it had been the day they first met.

She still remembered that day.

* * *

"_Are you still talking about that guy from your English Lit class? Just go over and ask him out, Idiota!" Chiara was chastising her friend as the girls walked out to the school parking lot at the end of another long day. _

_Ally shrugged, scrunching her face up as she contemplated her friend's words. "It's not like that, not really. I just thought he was interesting. Kind of… different." _

_Chiara snorted, "Different? Bambina, you're just saying that cuz you've never hung out with a bad boy before. Trust me, he's just another punk with funny-colored hair. Now, talking about interesting, when're you gonna introduce me to this big brother of yours?" _

"_Alfred? Really? You want to meet Alfred? For… dating purposes?" _

_Chiara snickered, "He's a hot college guy and my best friend's big brother, who she will not shut up about. Hell yes I wanna meet him!" _

_Ally frowned, "Alfred. Hot? I'm sorry, something is not computing, come back later." _

_Chiara laughed, "Yeah, well, I'm gonna have to take you up on that 'come back later' thing. I've gotta run pick up Feliciano from his classes at that fancy artsy private school and then we're heading out to Grampa's vineyards for the weekend." _

"_Okay, see ya later!" Ally waved her friend off, yelling at the last minute, "Tell my dad I said hi, okay?" _

_Chiara stopped, tipping her head to the side, "Alright, will do," she said after a bit of a pause before walking out to her car. _

_Ally chewed her lip, thinking about her dad. She hadn't seen him face-to-face since she was ten and Alfred was twelve. As far as she could remember, his leaving had been all at once the most ordinary and most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to them. Part of it was how everyday everything seemed to be. One day her Dad got a letter from the town he was born in. From the town he always referred to as 'Home' instead of by its name. Within a week he walked out the door, heading for work. He didn't come home for dinner that night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that night. Eventually her mother stopped making a plate for him. And Alfred stopped setting things aside for Dad to help him fix. And Ally practiced shooting her beebee gun alone instead of letting it sit in the corner of her room, waiting for Dad to come back before she worked with it. Life went on. Just minus one person._

_Chiara's Grampa lived in the town Dad had referred to as 'Home'. Chiara and her family visited it regularly. Ally knew that her father was still alive because Chiara had mentioned once that she and her brother Feli had run into a guy with the last name 'Jones' who looked exactly like Ally's pictures of Alfred, but slightly older and grayer while visiting their Grampa's vineyard. Ally wasn't sure how she felt about it. She almost wished Chiara had never seen him. Now Ally was stuck thinking about him, an activity she had been quite happy (and periodically very, very unhappy) to avoid like the plague. _

_Ally was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the rental car until it literally smacked into her. With a yelp of pain, Ally was knocked off her feet onto the pavement, scraping up her hands and knees in the process. "What the hell?" she snarled as she struggled to her feet, the driver, who had immediately stopped the vehicle when he realized that he had hit someone, clambering out of the driver's seat to come check on her. _

"_Don't bloody run in front of cars like that, git." Apparently the driver was in an even worse mood than she was. _

_Full of renewed irritation toward this arrogant recklessly-driving jerk, Ally renewed the struggle to rise. To her surprise, she felt a strong hand tighten around her right upper arm and haul her upright, setting her on her feet before she could protest the man-handling. She could, however, protest quite a few other things. "What's the big idea, ass-hat? Huh? Running over people? Ever heard of a little thing known as 'turning your head to see your blind spot when you pull out of a parking space'?" _

"_You walked in front of my car. What kind of stupid pedestrian-with-a-death-wish are you?" _

_Ally flicked her blond bangs out of her eyes, ready to snap back, when she looked up and realized she had been arguing with the green-haired guy from English Lit. Her heart kicked a tiny bit in her chest. "Green-Haired-Guy!" she blurted out. _

"_Question-Girl!" he exclaimed back, slightly mockingly, "Look, now we can start the world's lamest superhero team. We can be The League of Underappreciation. In which everyone is underappreciated. And no one is particularly impressive." _

_Ally laughed and shrugged, "I'd joining that team! When's registration?" _

"_Seriously?" he raised his eyebrows expressively. They were thick and blond, as she suspected the rest of his head was when not covered in fluorescent green. _

_Ally nodded, "I'll be a superhero. Even if I'm Underappreciated, at least I get to kick some bad-guy ass and be the hero. That's all that matters." _

_He folded his arms, the leather of his jacket creaking slightly at the motion. "Isn't that a bit of a contradiction? Being underappreciated and being the hero?" _

_Ally suspected he was teasing her, "Real heroes aren't flashy or obvious; they just do what needs doing and get on with it. All real badasses are like that." _

_He laughed, "You are rather British, Miss America." _

"_Am not," she protested, "I drive properly." _

_He snorted, "Traffic statistics seem to disagree."_

"_Traffic statistics didn't just get almost run over by some crazy, green-haired British foreign exchange student!" _

_He laughed, it was infectious. Ally got the feeling that what she was hearing was a rare and precious thing, not a thing to be tampered with or taken lightly. She sensed that it was not a regular thing to hear. She had to wonder if that was what made it so beautiful, the fact that anyone who heard it knew that it wasn't something ordinary. "Fair enough," he said, " I'll buy you something to eat and you'll not sue me?" _

_Ally grinned, McDonalds here they came. "Fine, but I wasn't going to sue you. Too much work." _

_He made a small, semi-shrugging gesture with his hands, "It seems like something you Americans enjoy doing." _

"_Eating or suing? _

"_Both." _

"_Hoping that food won over legal jargon?" _

"_Betting on it." _

_Ally had laughed at that and walked over the passenger door. "Alright, let's go. I don't have a car and can always catch a later bus." _

_He walked over to his door, shaking his head, "And what if I were a crazed serial-killer kidnapper?" _

"_You wouldn't have green hair. Far too easily identifiable. And serial-killers are typically mundane and average in appearance." _

_He grinned and shook his head, sticking out his hand over the roof of the car for her to shake, "Arthur Clarkland, punk and Brit, but not a serial killer." _

_She took it and shook, "Ally Jones, high school student and not-a-serial-killer. Now you, sir are taking me to McDonald's." She ignored his groan and, when they got to the fast-food joint, poked fun at him for secretly liking the French fries until the food arrived. _

_Midway through his third order of fries, Arthur seemed to realize that they had managed to somehow become friends. Ally, of course, already knew that. _

* * *

To this day, Ally could remember that first afternoon with Arthur. Just as clearly she could remember the day she thought he had died.

* * *

_His family's apartment splattered with blood, everything smashed and broken, bits of things and bits of bits that might have once been things flung about everywhere, and all over the stench of dark magic soaking into the floorboards…._

* * *

Ally really hoped that the man in front of her, staring at her with eyes both old and new and familiar and strange, really was her Arthur. She so badly wanted him to be her Arthur… So badly…

The man in front of her blinked, breaking their staring contest for the slightest of seconds. And she knew. She knew without a single doubt who this was. And he wasn't Arthur, but he wasn't anyone else either. He was Arthur, but there was something new about him. Something vastly and infinitesimally altered about the man before her.

'Arthur, what have you gotten into…?' she wondered, 'Do you even remember me…?'

Of course, the trouble with asking yourself questions is that yourself rarely has the answers you need.

**Author's Note: I am a very sorry author. I meant to update this sooner, I really did… but then it was the holiday season and I got even busier. Fear not, though, I do have a plan for this fic that I am super excited for and will be writing more soon! **

**Now, I realize that some of the details of Ally and Arthur's pasts are still foggy. Fear not, all shall come clear in time. I love me some dramatic reveals. This chapter was short on Romerica, but heavy on UKUS so I feel like it balanced out, sort of in the romantic fluff department. **

**If you read this PLEASE REVIEW! I love hearing from all of you, it definitely encourages me to write faster, knowing that there people out there interested in seeing more of this AU. **

**That said, see ya next chapter!**


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